


makes you bolder

by only_partly



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Bondage, Dom/sub, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-17
Updated: 2021-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-26 17:20:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30109368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/only_partly/pseuds/only_partly
Summary: they hurt my feelings so i'm hurting THEIR feelings (fictionally) right back
Relationships: Nicklas Backstrom/Alexander Ovechkin
Comments: 4
Kudos: 30





	makes you bolder

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by: https://twitter.com/dadvansss/status/1372013031010406400?s=20 , https://twitter.com/foreverkneeld/status/1372008352318943232?s=20 , and https://twitter.com/foreverkneeld/status/1371991954150592515?s=20

Nicke is waiting for him, outside the media room. His arms are crossed over his chest and he hasn’t bothered to do up all his shirt buttons or tuck anything in and he’s smirking and Sasha can’t wait.

“You know what it means when they say you break a milestone every time you step on the ice,” Nicke says. His hair is curling against the base of his neck, and his awful mid season mustache is coming in horribly. Sasha wants to bite it. 

“I’m best player of all time?” He guesses.

“Nope. Just really old.” Nicke grins at him as he groans and shakes his head. He can’t exactly deny it - his twinging knee and grey hair would put paid to any defense he tries and Nicke knows it, and anyway they’re two old men together, so that’s all right.

“Two old men, Nicke.”

Nicke’s mouth softens around his lip full of snus, and he brushes his elbow against Sasha’s arm. “Home?”

“Please.” Sasha slings his bag over his shoulder and they head for the garage in step. They’re both hungry again by the time they get home, and Nicke wordlessly sets about re-heating one of the frozen pasta dishes from last week while Sasha digs out the ice packs and heading pads and hands two of each to Nicke, blowing a hard sigh out when the warmth of his own pad begins sinking into his shoulder. Nicke presses two fingers to the back of his arm where the soreness is telling him a bruise is blossoming. “Bad?” He asks.

“Only because it’s not from me.” Nicke’s fingers dig in, just a little, and then he moves away, to pull out plates and forks. Sasha pouts.

“Not fair to tease, Nicke.”

“After dinner,” Nicke says mildly. “I’ll put a harness on you that has knot digging in to every bruise and one in your asshole and make you hold yourself open until you’re begging for me to fuck you.” 

Sasha takes a step towards him, his whole body flushing hot enough he probably doesn’t need the heating pad anymore, and Nicke holds up a warning finger. There’s a scrape on it, scabbed over brown and ugly red. Sasha wonders if Nicke will let him suck on it. “ _ After _ dinner, Sasha.”

Sasha sinks back onto his chair, slumping with his head onto the counter. “So long to wait, Nicke,” he mourns, “So long, probably I’ll die before food is ready.”

“Have you heard of this thing called a ‘microwave’,” Nicke says, snippy, and thunks Sasha’s steaming plate down in front of him. 

Nicke also refuses to let him bolt the whole plate, threatening to move his plans back by two hours if Sasha tries, and under such a threat Sasha subsides without a grumble and obediently eats his whole plate and another half portion and rinses both of their plates without being prodded into it. Nicke watches him with an amused glint in his eyes, but when everything is in the dishwasher or back in the freezer and the bar is wiped clean, he stands and meanders towards the bedroom, which Sasha takes as an implicit mark of approval. He follows eagerly, only just far away enough not to tread on Nicke’s heels, and throws himself into a sprawl on the bed. Nicke, head and shoulders in the closet, turns around with three coils of rope in his hands and rolls his eyes. 

“Like what you see?” Sasha asks, stretching exorbitantly and putting a little extra into it when it comes to his ass.

“Clothes off,” Nicke orders, and Sasha complies, ripping off his under armor and stripping out of his leggings before Nicke even has the first coil shaken out. The cool sheets feel good on his bruises and the brush of the jute is even better. He knows not to move when Nicke is working, despite the increasing pressure on his arms and legs making him want to move against the rope, to test it against his strength. He deliberately relaxes his body instead, cataloging the firm touches of Nicke straightening and tightening the bight against his skin, the promised knots nestling themselves in the already-sensitive valleys of bruises. Where there isn’t a bruise in line with where Nicke wants to tie, he pauses and bends down, dried curls falling like manna to brush against Sasha’s sensitized skin as he puts his mouth to the junction of Sasha’s hip and thigh or the side of his calf. His sharp eye teeth worry a bruise to the surface of the skin and a knot follows it a moment later, pressing down on the bruise like a benediction, holding Sasha together.

By the time Nicke is satisfied with his work, it could have been an hour or it could have been five - Sasha is floating by then, on the pain and pressure and surety of Nicke’s touch. When Nicke speaks, it’s so unexpected for these sessions that if Sasha weren’t so far under he would have startled.

“I meant it, earlier. Talking to the media. Even when we lose, it’s fun to play with you. Watching you score goals like tonight’s - it makes me proud, to think I get to watch you do all of that on the ice, and then we come home and I have you all to myself, like this. All your skill and the way you play - and no one gets to see you like this but me.”

“Nicke,” Sasha manages.

Nicke’s hand smooths down his chest, interrupted by the criss crossing of the ropes. It settles just above his groin, petting almost idly through the hair there. “I saw you, when I was talking. It got you hot, didn’t it, me saying that in front of all those cameras.”

“Made me want to - kneel, be good for you.” Sasha does pull against the bondage now, shifting a little and suppressing a whine at the feeling of the knot shifting against his taint.

“Poor Sasha, had to wait so long.” Nicke’s fingers tug at his pubes, sharp, and then move back to petting. “And now I’m making you wait even longer. Maybe I won’t even fuck you at all tonight. You already scored once earlier - should be enough, right?”

“Nicke,” Sasha says, hearing the whine in his voice and not able to stop it, “Nicke, please.”

“You don’t want to be greedy, right O?” Nicke’s blunt nails dig in as much as they can just above Sasha’s dick. “Good boys aren’t greedy.”

“No - no, of course, whatever you want, Nicke, please.” Sasha is panting now, the feeling of Nicke’s clever hands petting and stroking everywhere but where he wants it, and he forces himself to hold still instead of thrusting in search of more. 

“Of course whatever I say. And if I say I just want to jerk off looking at you, and you not come at all, is it still whatever I say?”

Sasha groans once, thinking of how hot and mean Nicke always looks, jerking off, and how unfair to not be allowed to get off himself to it, but he makes himself nod anyway. “Yes, Nicke.”

“‘Yes, Nicke’.” Nicke looks pleased, or as pleased as he ever looks during these, so mostly he just looks smug and like he’s about to bite Sasha again. “Good. Because I think this is what I want, using my good boy just like he asks me to, and then maybe if you’re very good we’ll see about you scoring again.”

The promise and threat at once has Sasha biting his lips against any more begging, lying quietly and obediently still as Nicke swings one leg over his hips to straddle him, kneeling down on his thighs and incidentally putting more pressure on the knots over the bruises there. The smirk on Nicke’s face says he knows exactly what he’s done, and the casual way he pushes down his shorts and boxers and takes himself in hand says he’s going to enjoy making Sasha watch him. 

Nicke is, however, nothing if not efficient, so it really only takes ten minutes of him slowly working himself to the sight of his captain tied and helpless beneath him to bring himself to the edge. He kneels up, then, and mercifully, leans forward to feed Sasha two of his fingers to muffle himself with as he picks up his pace. Sasha strains up as far as he can to take them into his throat, choking himself in his eagerness, and Nicke comes, as silently as always, all over Sasha’s chest and harness to the sound of his desperation.

Sasha busies himself with laving Nicke’s fingers with all the affection he couldn’t show his cock, and tries not to plead or make a case for his own release as Nicke recovers. He doesn’t  _ mind _ not being allowed to come, especially on nights they win. The flush of victory, and of scoring, carries over more than an orgasm would, and Nicke knows this, but if he doesn’t come, he’ll be awake early and bothering Nicke for attention, and Nicke knows this too. 

The fingers of NIcke’s free hand pluck thoughtfully at the rope across his chest, and then he says abruptly, “You should sleep like this, I think. Wouldn’t that be nice, Alex? Just held nice and securely all night, that knot rubbing your hole open, so in the morning I can just slip inside? Don’t you want to do that for me?”

A slower, more rolling heat moves through Sasha as he realises Nicke isn’t planning to let him come tonight at all, and that he’ll get to keep his harness all night. But he has a part to play, so he pouts just a little even as he obediently says, “Yes, Nicke.”

“There’s my good Sasha.” Nicke climbs off of him, tucking himself back into his shorts and wandering to the bathroom for a cloth and back to wipe the worst of the mess off of Sasha’s chest. He tosses the dirty cloth in the general direction of the hamper and rolls Sasha to one side and then the other in order to pull down the sheet and duvet. “Long day today. It’s nice to get an early night, don’t you think?”

Sasha can’t keep a muffled groan back as Nicke’s hand finds and gropes at his ass under the covers.

“What’s you say, Sasha?”

“Can’t wait for an early morning,” He manages, and Nicke laughs. 

“Good night, Sasha.”

Sasha sighs, resigning himself to a long and achy night and settling himself back into the harness and into Nicke’s arm. “Good night, Nicke.”

**Author's Note:**

> needless to say, it is generally a bad idea to leave your partner tied up for that many hours at a time, especially when they're an athlete and especially especially when they have joint issues already BUT this is fiction and i do what i want! but don't try this at home etc


End file.
